My Name Was April
by GoodNightSweetGirl
Summary: April recounting from preRENT to postRENT. My first story EVER, so please R&R! Chapter 9 has arrived!
1. It's Over

Disclaimer: No, I am not impersonating Jonathan Larson and I never will. I am merely using some of his and my ideas.

Roger. My Roger. I didn't want to leave him. Hell, I didn't want to leave any of them – not Mark, not Maureen, not Collins, not even Benny – but especially not Roger. I had to, though. It was for his own good. I knew I had to leave him and everything I knew the day before I actually left. It all began with a simple doctor's appointment about a week before.

"Ericsson, April?" the nurse asked into a crowded waiting room. I stood up nervously and followed her into a room. "You can sit here, dear," she said with a comforting smile. I sat where she said, fidgeting with my stringy red hair after she left.

I had been feeling sick for awhile before I decided to go to the doctor. Since this place, Ryder Memorial Clinic, was free, I went here for anything and everything. I figured maybe they could find out what was wrong with me. For the past two weeks or so, I had been throwing up and feeling basically like crap. I thought maybe I had the flu; it had been going around the neighborhood. Of course, since I did drugs, I wanted to make sure.

As I was sitting there waiting, the doctor came in. She too, had a warm smile, as she introduced herself as Julia Baker. She sat patiently, listening to me stating all of my health-related problems before she spoke.

"Miss Ericsson?" she began. The last person to call me Miss Ericsson was my 11th grade chem. teacher, Mr. Bugle. "I will be taking some blood samples from you right now so that we may test you for a number of diseases and illnesses." She handed me the paper.

Diabetes, coronary deficiency, tuberculosis and more were on that long list, but only one really caught my eye.

"AIDS? You think I have AIDS?"

"Well," said Julia. "Are you a regular drug user? And if you are, how do you consume your drugs?"

"Yea," I said sheepishly. "I inject it."

"AIDS can easily be spread from needle to needle between drug users" Dr. Baker explained. I was shocked. People like me didn't get AIDS. Well, maybe they did, but not me. I couldn't have AIDS. I just couldn't.

"Um, ok then" I said nervously. "When will I get my results back?"

"In about a week or so. You can just write your number here", the doctor handed me a slip of paper, where I wrote 970-4301, the number of the loft. "And we'll get back to you." I thanked her, and left.

I started throwing up more and more in the mornings. Thank GOD Roger wasn't there in the mornings. He was helping Maureen out, who had a performance to work on. I told everyone I was going to stay home. Instead, I went to The Wiz, a drugstore down the street, and bought myself a pregnancy test. Better to be safe then sorry, right.

Oh how wrong I was. I couldn't believe how much a tiny little object could ruin my life, but boy was I going to find out. It was positive.

"Damn it!" I said, angry at the world. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! This can't be happening! No!" But it was true. Inside of my fucked up body, so screwed up by drugs and alcohol and God knows what else, was a little baby. How could I tell Roger?

Before I could think anymore, the phone rang. I picked it up, in a daze, praying that it wasn't Roger. It wasn't. It was the clinic.

"Hello, is Miss. Ericsson there?" a solemn voice asked.

"This is she" I said. I had almost forgotten about the tests. I figured that since I was pregnant, that must have been why I was feeling so shitty. And maybe it was.

"Miss Ericsson," the voice began, "I am sorry to inform you that you have Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, also known as AIDS. For help in coping with this issue and to receive medication, please hold while we connect you to a counselor."

I hung up the phone instead, in shock. I did have AIDS. Shit. This was even worse than the – Oh god, the baby! My baby, our baby, was going to have AIDS too, I knew it. And Roger too. God, how could I fuck up so many people's lives in such a short time? I had to do something.

And as I was sitting on the toilet seat, I realized what I had to do. For all of our own good. I looked around for a minute, and then I saw it. A box full of razors, the kind you get for 5 bucks at The Wiz. I took one out and imagined it scraping my light skin. I had always hated my skin. Roger called it creamy, but I thought it was just awful. I had just put the razor on my skin before I remembered something. I went to the kitchen and saw a piece of paper. It was Maureen's favorite stationary, the Monopoly game lining the edge. She had told me how long she had looked for the perfect stationary. I asked her once why she spent money on stationary when she could have used it for something she actually needed. Her reply was, "April, I NEEDED this." and left it at that.

I wrote my last message to the world I was leaving behind and left it on the sink. I turned on the tub faucet, waited a bit for the water to warm, and then undressed and stepped into the bathtub.

My last thought as I left this world was of Roger. It was of the first time we kissed. It was a perfect kiss. One that you only had a couple times in your life, and that was only if you were real lucky.

My wrists didn't hurt as much as I thought they would. I was reminded of that fateful day, just a week age, at the clinic. When the nurse had taken my blood, she said it would only hurt for a second. "There," she said when she took the needle with my blood in it out of my arm. "All over".

Yes. It was over.

I came up to this place pretty quickly after my death. I don't know if its heaven or not. I don't think I deserve to be in heaven, for what I did to Roger.

Ironically enough, Roger was the first one to find my. Mark and Maureen went out to celebrate a performance well done, but Roger came home, if you can call this tiny three room loft a home. He wanted to see me, he had said, to make sure I was ok. My beautiful kind Roger. I could only watch from above as he searched for me, calling me and checking all of the rooms.

The bathroom, of course, was the last place he checked. The first thing Roger saw as he opened the door was me. I was submerged in the tub, which was a light red, due to my blood. I guess Roger had a stupid moment then, because he went, " April? Are you OK?" As he moved forward, he suddenly gasped in horror.

He pulled me out of the water, his gorgeous blue eyes looking into my lifeless blue ones. As he sobbed, holding me tightly against him, I sobbed too, sobs that I could only hear.

"Oh God," Roger whispered, tears streaming down his sunken cheeks. You see, he accompanied me on my 'excursions' to see 'The Man'. That was how I knew for sure that he had it too. If it wasn't me that did it, it was the smack. "April, why?" Then he saw my note, written on Maureen's Monopoly stationary. We've got AIDS.

At that point, Mark and Maureen entered the loft, singing gaily about parakeets and baboons. Roger called for Mark to get Maureen out, but they couldn't hear him.

"Roger?" Maureen called playfully. "Oh Roger! You won't believe what Mark and I have been - "

Maureen stopped in her tracks as she saw my limp body. "Roger! Tell me that's not April. Roger!" Roger didn't answer. He couldn't. It _was_ me.


	2. Mommy Dearest

**Disclaimer: I don't own much here. It's mostly Jonathan Larson's. **

Mark arranged my funeral. Maureen, my best friend, couldn't bear to talk about me, and Roger was in shock. He hadn't left the loft for two weeks, and had eaten very little, even when Mark begged him to. Benny helped pay for the funeral. He and I weren't real close buddies, so that was really sweet of him. Mark tried to call my parents, and after two days of leaving voicemails, he finally got them.

"Hello?" Mark asked, relieved to have finally been able to talk to a real person.

"Yes?" a woman answered. "Who is this?"

"My name is Mark Cohen," Mark replied nervously, "And I have some really bad news. Are you sitting down?"

Mark could hear some shuffling over the phone, which he assumed was someone sitting down. "What is it?"

"Your daughter, April, died on the 7th. She was a close friend of mine, and I am planning her funeral. I've been trying to reach you for a while now, and I am just so sorry," he rambled.

Silence greeted him as my mother's face crumpled with disbelief, and then, grief. "How did she die?" my mother asked.

"Um," said Mark, not knowing whether to tell her or not. "She killed herself."

I knew my mother was not going to take this well. She was a woman of God, and suicide is a big no-no. I mean, she wouldn't even let me have a boyfriend when I was 16. 16 is old enough, no matter what she says. And Dad isn't there anymore to tell her to chill out. He left when I was 9, and it just got worse and worse. That's why I left as soon as I got my diploma.

"Well," my mother said with a steely voice. "She can rot in hell for all I care then. If they'll let her in, of course." And with that, my mother swore me off for eternity. And hung up on a dumbstruck Mark.

**Hope you like it everyone! Sorry about the long wait. Please review! **


	3. I Can't Say Goodbye

**Disclaimer: I don't own much, except my ideas. Jonathan Larson, rest his soul, does.**

Chimes were playing in the church where I was being buried.

Six people had shown up at my funeral. In my whole twenty years of life, six people had decided to pay respect to it. The gang was there: Roger, Mark, Maureen, Benny, and Collins.

"April was an amazing person," said Mark as he stood in front of our friends. "I remember this one time, when I was walking down the street with her after picking her up from her work, and she saw an abandoned dog curled up on the sidewalk. I just wanted to drop it off at a pound anywhere, but April wouldn't have that." He laughed quietly to himself. "She took it home, named it Vera for some strange reason, and fed it and everything. She cried when we finally returned her." He walked down the steps and sat down.

Collins and Benny each said something sweet about me. I honestly didn't know Benny had it in him to be nice, but even he had tears in his eyes.

Roger was up to say something. He slowly walked up to my coffin, and opened his mouth to say something. His voice stuck in his throat. He was up there for almost ten minutes before he let out a sob and started running away from everyone.

"Roger!" Mark yelled, to no avail. He followed Roger out of the cemetery.

**A/N: Yes, I know that this is short. But it's two in one day! Don't I get points for that? Well, I hope you like it! Please review. If you give me any ideas, I'll promise to take it into consideration. Have a nice weekend!**


	4. Half a Year of Withdrawal

**Disclaimer – I still don't own it. Never will.**

Chapter 4 – Half a Year of Withdrawal

I didn't have a funeral reception. After all, why would my friends gather to celebrate my life that I didn't want? Anyway, Roger was nowhere to be found. Everyone was really worried when he didn't show up all night. They thought that he had gone to get drugs, go on a drinking binge, or worse.

But I knew better.

The day he found my body, Roger had quit drugs – cold turkey. At least one good thing had happened because of my death. Roger didn't want to go to the doctor to confirm what my note had told him – that he had AIDS – but sweet, reliable Mark had almost forced him too. Sure enough, he found out a week later that he indeed have AIDS. The fact that Roger didn't show any emotion to this at all scared Mark more than anything else.

No, Roger wasn't out drinking, or doing drugs. He was in a dark alley, rain pouring, soaking his clothes. He couldn't stop shaking, and shivering. This was his third week without having any drugs. Roger was in withdrawal, and his body wasn't taking it well at all. His face had become gaunt; he had lost an unnatural amount of weight; and he still had eaten only what Mark forced him too. He hadn't gone to another doctor after Mark took him almost three weeks ago, because he didn't think he would get any real help there. Any rehab clinics were too expensive for him to go to as well.

No one knew what Roger was doing, not even Mark, who was keeping a close eye on his best friend. Sure, Mark had noticed that Roger was acting and looking worse than he had ever seen him look, but he figured that Roger was getting depressed enough about my death to start drugs again. Oh how wrong he was.

When the pains and shivers had finally subsided, Roger fell asleep. He woke up around five in the morning without a clear idea where he had been. He was pretty far from the loft – about 12 blocks – and pretty out of it as well. Thank God Mark had woken up early, scared about Roger, and dragged Collins out of bed.

"Collins!" Mark whispered to a lump on a gray futon. "Collins, wake up!" The lump groaned and shifted to the other side of the futon, but Mark wouldn't give up. "Collins!" the blonde filmmaker almost shouted, startling him.

"What time is it?" Collins mumbled, brushing at his eyes. "I'm so tired."

"Roger's still missing," Mark said urgently. "I'm afraid he's gonna get mugged or something. Collins, I'm really worried about him!"

"About what? Roger would kick anyone's ass if they mugged him." Collins replied.

"Yea, if he wasn't stoned or drunk out of his mind," persisted Mark. "He looks awful now, and he could get killed by the Man if he can't pay for his drugs! I mean, Roger just lost his job at Dave's, so he doesn't have any money. And none of mine's missing."

Collins stared at Mark, quite a bit perkier than he was five minutes ago.

"Man," Collins said, with a hint of a smile on his face. "Roger's not doing drugs."

"He's not?" asked Mark, confused.

"No. He's in withdrawal."

Now it was Mark who stared at Collins.

"And how would you know?" he asked.

"Well," Collins said, "I used to be on heroin, and some other shit, like Roger, before I met you guys. Then I got AIDS, and I decided to live life for as long as I could. I went into withdrawal cuz I couldn't pay for fancy doctors and their fancier drugs. Let me tell you, it sucked. But now that I think about it, I think that's what Roger's doing."

Mark stared at Collins, open-mouthed. But before he could say anything, there was a knock at the door.

**Hope you like it! Review to give me some ideas! GM**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own a couple things, but most belong to Jonathan Larson.**

**A/N: I would just like to take this time and thank everyone who has read this story. All of the hits and reviews just make my day. I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner; I've been really sick and couldn't get to the computer. Hope you like it!**

Mark stole a glance at Collins, unsure whether to answer the door or not. After all, it was pretty early in the morning. Collins gave him a quick nod, and was behind him as Mark opened the door.

"Roger?" Mark asked, looking at his friend. Roger looked awful. His clothes were sticking to him with what Mark thought was sweat, since the last time it rained was hours ago. Roger had started shivering again, even though the loft was a bit more heated than usual. Mark had a really bad feeling about this whole quitting drugs cold turkey thing.

Instead of answering Mark, Roger promptly collapsed at the doorway. Fortunately Collins was there to catch Roger, or else the sick musician would have hit the cold floor of the loft.

"Ooof!" Collins sputtered, surprised by the extra weight. "Mark, help me get Roger to the couch." Mark stared at him stupidly, too shocked to do anything at all. "Mark!" Collins almost shouted, freeing Mark from his shock. He hurriedly grabbed Roger's legs while Collins grabbed his head, and they eased him onto the futon Collins had been on just a short time ago.

In all their rush to help Roger out, Mark and Collins forgot about the other member of the loft. Although Maureen was a rather heavy sleeper, even she could be waken up by the commotion going on outside her room.

"Pookie?" came Maureen's call, a bit slurred with sleep. "Pookie, what's going on?" Then she saw Roger.

"What's wrong with Roger?" Maureen asked Mark, now fully awake.

"He's withdrawing," Mark replied, "and he just passed out. I don't know whether to take him to a hospital or not. We can't pay for it, but I need to know if he's ok."

The trio stared at Roger's unconscious body, wondering how to help him.

**So, what do I do? Hospital, no hospital? Either way, this is gonna get really interesting! GM**


	6. Time Flies

**Disclaimer: Nothing. Still.**

While the three bohemians debated among themselves on whether to take Roger to a hospital or not, I was watching Roger. He slept so peacefully. That was one of my favorite things about him: how he slept. When he did sleep, which was not very often, he looked much younger, and pure too. I could go back in time then, to the first few months of our relationship.

_We had met when I was 17 and sober. He was 20, and looked so mature and confident the first time I saw him, in a club performing. I was with Maureen, who had also noticed Roger and was trying to catch his eye. But he was looking straight past her, at me. His electric blue gaze seemed to bore into my eyes as he sang in a gruff but somewhat soothing voice. I didn't believe in love at first sight until I met Roger. _

_Maureen wanted to leave right after the show to go to another bar, one where she was going to meet her 'flavor of the week', Jeff. I convinced her to call him, say she'd be late, and promise to meet up with him later. When she asked why, I told her I just had to see Roger._

_"Musicians aren't as great as they seem, 'Ril," Maureen said as I dragged her around the club, looking for those eyes. "Trust me. I've dated them, and they like their work more than they like you." I laughed, knowing that it was really Maureen who was too absorbed in her showpieces to pay attention to her boyfriends' music. _

_Anyway, I knew he would be different. Those eyes, that smile, that voice told me so._

_Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. I swung around, and there he was, in all his glory. My hands started shaking, and he smiled again. He could melt me with his smile._

_"Hi," he said, sticking out his hand. "I'm Roger."_

_I couldn't speak. I was just staring at his hand. It was a really nice hand, too, with long fingers perfect for playing the guitar._

_"And she's April," said Maureen, after she finally realized I couldn't say anything. "April says hi." I stared at Maureen with shock on my face; she was making me look like an idiot._

_"Hi Roger," I said, taking his hand and shaking it, his completely engulfing mine. "This is Maureen," I added to finish the introductions. "We live together. As roommates." I quickly added, knowing what Roger was thinking. I flashed him a smile, and to my delight, he flashed one right back. _

_"Well," said Maureen, figuring out that she might be the third wheel here, "I'll just run off now and join Jeff, and leave you two alone. 'Ril, I'll be back to pick you up in and hour or so, ok?"_

_"No," said Roger, "That's ok. I'll bring her home. Is that ok?" he asked me._

_ I was grinning from ear to ear. He was going to bring me home! "Yea," I replied, "That'll be great. Bye Maureen!" Maureen turned around to leave, and smacked right into someone._

_"Shit!" a blonde-haired young man said. He was wearing a scarf, even though it was a pretty warm night for October, and had on glasses. He had spilt some beer on Maureen's light blue shirt. He went to wipe it off, but then thought better of it. _

_"I'm so sorry," he continued, handing Maureen a stack of napkins. "So sorry," he repeated. _

_"That's ok," Maureen said, checking the guy out like only Maureen could. "I'm all good."_

_"And that," said Roger, with a smirk on his face, "Is **my** roommate, Mark. He's a graceful one, isn't he?" Maureen and I laughed as Mark's face started turning red. _

_"Why don't we go sit somewhere else and leave these two alone?" Maureen suggested to Mark, who then started to blush deeper than anyone I had ever seen before, but nodded. Maureen winked at me before leaving with Mark._

_"So," I said to Roger. "Um, do you play here often?" I felt so stupid asking a question like that – it was like asking about the weather. But I did want to know more about him. _

_"Yeah, we play here a lot," he answered. "I guess it would be pretty stupid of me to ask if you go here a lot then, right?" We both laughed a little._

_Our conversation did get better after that, thank god. I learned that his band was called the Well Hungarians, and that they had been playing for a little over a year. He wanted to become a famous rock star, to write a song that people would remember. In turn, I told him that I didn't know what I wanted to do in life, but that it would be pretty damn important. _

_Time flew by so fast, that before we knew it, the club manager was telling us it was time to go. I figured that Maureen had already left with Mark, so I wasn't too worried about her. I asked Roger if he wanted a ride home, if Maureen hadn't taken the car already._

_It was a plain car, 1975, my first car ever. I didn't know the kind, but it was dark green and ran, which was fine by me. Thankfully Maureen didn't take it, she must have gone home in a cab or something, so Roger and I went in and I drove him home._

_At the entrance to his loft, which surprisingly was only a couple of blocks away from the apartment Maureen and I were staying in, Roger stopped. _

_"So," I said with a grin , "I guess you can't run away from me now that I know where you live."_

_Roger smiled. "I don't think I really want to, though," he replied, kissing me and closing the door behind him._

They were almost through debating whether to take Roger to the hospital or not. The debate was mostly between Mark and Collins, because Maureen was still groggy and didn't want to start fighting with anyone.

"We've got to take him to a hospital!" Mark urged. "They'll have the medicine for him, and what if it's serious?"

"Come on," Collins said impatiently, "Take it from someone who knows what Roger's going through: if you take him to a hospital he's just going to leave, and we can't afford it anyway!"

Before Mark could retaliate, however, a groan came from the couch.

"Roger?" Mark said, his attention completely focused on his friend. "Roger?"

Roger mumbled something incoherent on the futon.

"What?" said Mark. "Roger, are you ok?"

"No hospital," Roger managed to say. "I can't stand hospitals."

"See?" Collins asked Mark with a somewhat smug expression. "Don't take him." Mark sighed, but gave in.

**So, did you like the flashback part? I wasn't too sure about that.**

**SATs this weekend, so I'll try to update on Sunday or Monday. Thanks for all the great reviews! They help so much! GM**


	7. Another Side of Withdrawal

**Disclaimer: Nada, zilch, nothing.**

**Ok, Sunday or Monday didn't work – I was so tired. And the rest of the week was play practices. Sorry! Hope you like it this chapter, though!**

After that moment, life pretty much sucked for Roger. Since he had missed so many days at work as a bartender, his boss, Dave, fired him. There went the rent. Thankfully for them, Roger's last paycheck came before his pink slip did, and life went on, without me.

One of the few things that I left behind when I died included my car. It was the same one that I had driven Roger home in on our first 'date'. It was a wonder any of us could own a car, but I did manage to own that green mass of junk.. It was still sitting on the curb by the loft. The last time I had used it was to go to the doctors, which was too far to walk. I remember Roger telling me sometimes, when his band wasn't doing too well or work wasn't going great that he and I would get in my car and drive to Santa Fe.

We never did get to do that.

Withdrawal is tough for anyone, but it really hit Roger hard. Maybe because he was still coping with my death, I don't know, but Roger couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and couldn't stop shivering. Mark tried as best as he could to help him, after all, Roger was like a brother to him. Yea, Roger was Mark's brother and I was his sister. What a perfectly functional family we made.

One day, as Mark walked home to the loft, a bag of the cheapest groceries he could find in his skinny arms, he couldn't find Roger.

"Roger?" Mark called into the loft, his voice echoing in the air. No answer. "Roger?" Mark repeated, his voice anxious now. Still nothing. Mark was in a panic now, searching all of the rooms until the only one he hadn't checked was the bathroom.

The bathroom that Mark had spent hours, armed with disinfectant and three sponges, just to rid the tub of my blood. The bathroom that was the only place Roger could be, doing God knows what. Mark ran to the bathroom door and opened it, fearing the worst.

He gave a sigh of relief as he saw what was in the bathroom. It was Roger, sitting at the toilet with a pained expression on his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" Roger asked Mark, grimacing as he did so.

"Wha- why didn't you answer me?" Mark asked, blushing and turning his head away.

"Because I was busy, that's why." Roger grunted. "Now leave me the hell alone." Mark didn't need to stick around any longer. He turned around and shut the bathroom door as quickly as he could. He thought he heard Roger say, "Damn diarrhea," but wasn't entirely sure.

Mark couldn't help but smile. This had to be a sign from someone that Roger would get better. He wanted to think that that someone was me.

**What did you think? I wanted to lighten the mood a bit. Diarrhea is a side effect of withdrawal, by the way. Please, as always, R & R! GM**


	8. You Can Learn a Lot by PeopleWatching

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rent. But still love it and am going to the 10th anniversary lottery!**

When I was alive, I loved to people-watch. You know, sitting on a park bench in Central Park or hanging by the loft's window and staring at the bustling street below, sketchbook in hand, drawing anyone and everyone. My favorite 'type' of people were the couples in love. No matter how tacky they might look, kissing in the middle of the street or holding hands as they walked, seeing these people always made me feel "warm and fuzzy."

Even now, up here, wherever that may be, I love watching New York. I still love to watch the couples, but now I watch other people. Some of the saddest things I see are the junkies, looking for the Man to give them their fix. It broke my heart to see these people, most of them my age, doing this to themselves. Call me a hypocrite. I know better now, but that life, I guess.

There was one girl in particular who caught my eye. She was young, 16 maybe, and Hispanic with dark skin, an explosion of chestnut curls, and warm brown eyes. She was also as thin as a stick, and had a haunted look about her, which definitely classified here as one of the Man's. Most of the time, she was there alone, but sometimes I saw her with Benny. What a scumbag, since he was married to Alison Grey, whom we called Muffy after overhearing them in the loft one night. Even though her name reminded me of a tiny, barking dog, Benny was still low for cheating on her. This girl, who Benny called 'Mimi', dressed like a hooker, although, when I watched her one night, she went to the Cat Scratch Club. A dancer! And then, to my surprise, she went back to the loft, without Benny. Apparently she lived right above us, all by herself, by the looks of it. It was interesting to note that although Benny sometimes came to her apartment with her, he was never around when he knew Mark, Roger, Maureen, or Collins was going to be around.

Then one day, about three months before Christmas, I was watching Mimi walk down the street. She stopped at a girl playing the drums, and gave her some spare change. She was really good, actually, and Mimi was dancing along to the beat.

"Mimi," Mimi introduced herself to the player.

"Hi," the girl replied back, in a low voice, "I'm Angel."

They stayed like that for a couple of minutes, just playing and dancing on the street, when along came a couple of skinheads. They apparently knew Angel, because they stopped her and started yelling at her, calling her a fag and a queer, and then starting making fun of Mimi too.

Angel promptly stood up and walked over to them, her face strangely calm. "I'm more of a man then you'll ever be," and she took off her wig, "and more of a woman, then you'll ever get. Now scram before I get a few of my buddies to fix the two of you up." The skinheads didn't need to hear anymore; they were out of there faster than you could say "Boo".

"That was freakin' AWESOME, Angel!" Mimi said, giggling.

"I know," Angel replied, also giggling like mad. "I can't believe I did that!"

The two stayed there for a while, Angel making more money with his? her? playing, and Mimi standing by or dancing. Then, all of a sudden, Benny came strolling by, Muffy in tow.

"Benny?" Mimi called to him. "Hey Benny? Who's that with you?" she asked. Benny turned the darkest shade of red I had ever seen him and started to walk off, warding questions from Muffy.

"That fuck!" Mimi exclaimed to Angel. "Who the hell was that?"

"By the looks of her, his wife," Angel sighed, giving Mimi a hug. "Men can be such jerks," she said, holding the crying Mimi in her arms. I decided then and there that I really liked Angel. Mimi too, was someone who could have been my friend. She had all of the spunk and fire that I wanted. She really reminded me of Roger in a way Which got me thinking………

I might never be back on Earth ever again to spend another Christmas or New Year with Roger, but maybe, just maybe, I could make his New Year a happier one.

**I hope you liked it! I was so busy with everything; sorry about the delay! GM**


	9. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**Disclaimer: I don't own in motion – iRent! Sorry, just something cute I saw on livejournal.  
**

"Christmas bells are ringing! Christmas bells are ringing! Christmas bells are RINGING! Somewhere else! Not here!" Aah, nothing says Christmas more than listening to the vocally-inclined homeless of New York City singing their versions of Christmas carols. Christmas in New York is a wonderful time – if you're:

a. in love

b. rich

c. a kid

Unfortunately for Roger and Mark, neither of them was any of those. Mark had discovered Maureen's lover, Joanne, a few weeks ago – apparently she was gay and just forgot to let him know – and Roger…well, Roger was doing better, but he could definitely use some cheering up. Rich was something they could laugh at, while their teeth weren't chattering, of course. Christmas Eve, and Benny had cut the power. Again. Really, he's the nicest yuppie scum EVER. And for being a kid? Well, duh, they were far from it.

"I'm gonna go look for Collins, wherever the hell he is," Mark was telling Roger as I settled in to watch them for awhile. "Wanna come? We might even go out to eat afterwards," he added hopefully.

"No," Roger replied, staring at his guitar and plucking some strings absentmindedly. "Zoom in on my empty wallet."

"Touché," Mark tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but I caught it. "Take your AZT."

Roger mumbled something as Mark shut the door. He opened the bottles of pills and popped some into his mouth along with water. He walked over to the window just in time to see Mark walk out of the loft. He went to his room and got out a notebook. It was a plain, blue spiral notebook. On the inside held all of Roger's songs, lyrics even I didn't get to always read. Roger took his guitar in hand, and started to pluck a few strings again, only this time making music. I knew it from somewhere; I just didn't know where. He kept on playing until he started screwing up. Then he threw his guitar onto the table angrily and opened the notebook.

One song  
Glory  
One song  
Before I go  
Glory  
One song to leave behind  
Find one song  
One last refrain  
Glory  
From the pretty boy from Maine  
Who wasted opportunities  
One song  
He had the world at his feet  
Glory  
In the eyes of a young girl  
A young girl  
Find glory  
Beyond the cheap colored lights  
One song  
Before the sun sets  
Glory -- on another empty life  
Time flies -- time dies  
Glory -- One blaze of glory  
One blaze of glory -- glory  
Find  
Glory  
In a song that rings true  
Truth like a blazing fire  
An eternal flame  
Find  
One song  
A song about love  
Glory  
From the soul of a young man  
A young man  
Find  
The one song  
Before the virus takes hold  
Glory  
Like a sunset  
One song  
To redeem this empty life  
Time flies  
And then - no need to endure anymore  
Time dies

A tear fell from my eye as I watched Roger. Then I saw something out of the corner of my other eye. It was Mimi, walking up the steps of the building with a single, lit candle. I looked first at Roger again, and then at Mimi, and blew the candle out.


End file.
